Freedom
by wineskin
Summary: Never say never; I was happy with my one and only fic but I had the need to flesh out Peter and Neal's reunion in Paris a bit further, hence this. This comes on the heels of the Epilogue of A Glimpse Into Grief.
1. Chapter 1

Peter was thankful airports were one of the few public places grown men could have emotional reunions involving hugging and crying without raising eyebrows because right now there was a lot of hugging…and crying. He pulled away from Neal only because he needed to blow his nose.

He eyed some seats close by. "Let's sit for a sec, before I faint." He dragged his suitcase in one hand and Neal in the other. They sat, knees bumping into each other. He figured he must be in shock because words were failing him. He went with levity to get the ball rolling; God knows there were going to be major conversational minefields to navigate soon enough.

"So, not dead yet..." You could never go wrong with Monty Python.

That got a smile out of Neal who was still wiping his face. He countered with a quip of his own, "Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated."

"Ah. Well that can happen; especially when there's an actual body and death certificate." His voice carried more bite than he intended; so much for levity. The tone wasn't lost on Neal either.

"Peter, let me take you back to my place," he said with some urgency, resting his hand on Peter's forearm. " I know you're booked into a Hilton, but I have plenty of room, and…well, it'll give us more time together. I don't know how long you're here…"

Leave it to Neal to figure out where he was staying and what flight he was on…nothing wrong with his spying acumen.

Peter nodded his assent. "Sure, okay." He aimed for a light hearted tone again and shot him a grin, "although the last time we bunked together you couldn't show me the door fast enough."

Neal smiled wide at the memory, a smile Peter never thought he'd see again in this lifetime. "Just don't go sweating like a pig on my Chanel sofa and we're good." He nudged Peter's knee with his own. "Let's go. I have a car waiting for us."

Neal took the lead, standing and taking Peter's suitcase in hand. "I'm just out here", Neal motioned towards the nearest exit. They walked closely together, Neal's free arm slung around Peter's shoulder.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter and Neal stepped into the waiting Mercedes, with Neal speaking a few sentences of perfect French to the driver, or what passed as perfect French to Peter, what did he know about the language anyways, and then they were off. Again, words were hard to come by at the moment but that was okay; he was content to just have Neal next to him, hearing him breathe. Neal, however, was only too happy to yammer away, rattling off places of interest on the drive into the city. Peter would give a cursory glance whenever Neal pointed out a landmark but then turn his attention immediately back to Neal. Neal was the only landmark worth noticing.

"You're staring", Neal finally commented.

"Yah, I am. Can you blame me?"

Neal shook his head. "You're a sight for sore eyes yourself Peter Burke."

Peter had the time in the car to examine Neal up close and personal and noticed a faint bruise on his cheek. "What happened there", he asked, pointing to the side of his face. "That's quite a shiner."

Neal rubbed his cheek, grimacing. "Mozzie happened."

"Ah." Peter bit his lip, stifling a grin.

"He didn't take too kindly to being left in the dark."

"That makes two of us," Peter muttered.

"He would have clocked me again but he said he'd leave that side of my face for you."

"Mighty neighbourly of him."

Neal shot him a dubious look.

"I'm not going to hit you Neal. I think."

"Mighty neighbourly of you."

Peter reached over and gently rubbed his thumb over the offending bruise. Neal closed his eyes, happy and grateful for Peter's touch.

"Hey", Neal said quietly, "you're a dad."

Peter smiled. "I am. Hard to wrap your mind around isn't it."

"It's really not", Neal whispered. He cleared his throat. "Mozzie wouldn't tell me much. I think his exact words were, 'the baby's fine considering he's spawn of the Suit, thankfully he mostly favours Mrs. Suit. Kid caught a break there.' "But he wouldn't show me any pics or tell me his name for that matter. He said it was for you to tell."

Peter was surprisingly touched at the consideration shown by the little guy.

"So?" Neal asked impatiently.

"So", Peter echoed. "I'm in agreement with Moz, the boy does favour El. I'm biased but I think he's pretty perfect." Peter paused. He didn't want to do this in a car but Neal asked, so..." we named him after you." Neal's jaw dropped. "Neal Mitchell Burke." He took out his phone, pulled up his photos, and handed it to Neal who all but grabbed it out of his hands. "Behold, your namesake."

It got very quiet in the car then. Peter watched Neal scroll through pic after pic, big fat tears silently falling down his face. Peter wrapped an arm around his shoulder.

"He's beautiful," Neal choked out after a spell. "I actually see you in him."

"He's a monkey, El and I can hardly keep up with him."

Neal ran his fingers over the screen lost in thought. "I missed so much," he said sadly, more to himself than to anyone.

"You're gonna meet him bud. He's gonna know his Uncle Neal. He's just at the fun stage now anyways."

Neal raised teary eyes to Peter and smiled. That was exactly what he needed to hear in that moment, and somehow Peter knew it, Peter always knew.

"I should send El a quick text; I promised I'd let her know when I landed. He took his phone from Neal, then gazed at him thoughtfully.

"What?" Neal queried.

"Smile for the camera." Before Neal could blink, Peter snapped a pic.

He composed a quick message to send along with the photo – 'Hey hon, look who I found, or rather, who found me! Sleep well, love you. Kiss the boy for me. Call you tomorrow and you can speak to the man himself.'

The car turned onto a leafy avenue and pulled to a stop in front of a chateau-like residence.

Peter whistled. "Is this all yours?"

Neal gave him a look. "I'm not the Sultan of Brunei, Peter; I have an apartment on the 3rd floor. Few flights of stairs to climb."

"Sounds familiar", Peter said with a grin.

Neal thanked the driver and they emerged from the vehicle with Peter's luggage in tow and walked inside.

Neal gave him a tour of his pied-a-terre, ending with the balcony, which was a fraction of the size of his terrace at June's, just big enough for a bistro set and a chaise lounge.

"Wow. Impressive view." He gazed at the Eiffel Tower in the distance.

Neal nodded. "Yeah, exchanged one iconic building for another, not a bad trade off."

"I'll say."

"You must be exhausted. You can change or shower if you want, and I'll make coffee, finest French Roast in all of France."

"I'll take you up on all of those things."

"Plumbing is a little temperamental in here. Hot water will kick in eventually."

"Good to know, thanks."

Peter felt like a new person a half hour later. He wandered out to the balcony to find a French Press with his name on it as well as a cheese board and a tray of pastries.

"Thought you might be peckish. I have boeuf bourguignon for dinner later. Figure you'd want to eat early and crash."

"You didn't have to go through the trouble Neal," Peter said, stuffing a pain au chocolat in his mouth.

"No trouble. Besides, I haven't had anyone to cook for in a year," he replied, pouring the coffee.

"Come on. You can't tell me you haven't rustled up dinner for a bevy of French beauties here on a regular basis."

"Sadly, I can't." He handed Peter a mug.

He took a sip and groaned audibly. "Oh my gosh, I want to marry this coffee."

"Sorry to break it to you my friend but you're already married."

"Eh, El has an open mind."

Neal grinned like an idiot. He had Peter back! He had his Peter back and suddenly the past 12 months didn't seem like quite the horror show it was.

Peter took a seat at the table and leveled him with that patent FBI laser- like stare that Neal knew so well yet still made him nervous.

"Okay Neal. Let's talk."


	3. Chapter 3

"I'm assuming you worked out most of it..." Neal began, draining the last of his coffee, regretting it wasn't scotch.

Peter nodded. "Pretty much. Start at the beginning."

Neal stalled, toying with his mug, reluctant to go down this road, as much as Peter deserved an explanation.

"Come on Neal, I need to know why..."

Neal stared at his hands...he hated re-living this. "All I could think about was my freedom, as you know, by any means necessary. If it meant risking my life taking out the Panthers to secure it then so be it, it was my life to lose." He took a deep breath. "It was Keller, of all people...we were meeting in a park and..." Neal shook his head. "I was so short-sighted Peter; I should've figured it out on my own. He made me realize that even with Woodford and everyone else behind bars they had the means to find me, hunt me down, and if they couldn't get to me...", Neal's voice started to shake..."they'd come after the people that meant the most to me...you, El, Moz, June, everyone I cared about. I was so consumed with my freedom I didn't see it... I should've, and the fact that it took Keller to point it out… I was trapped, in too deep. There was no turning back and I would have, you know I would have..."

"Wait a minute. You based all of this on Keller?" Peter was incredulous. "Why would you believe anything that came out of his mouth? You knew better than that."

"Because it was true. I did some digging of my own and it was true. The Panthers were ruthless, definitely not the forgive-and-forget bunch."

"So you come to me and say, Peter, we have a problem, I don't know how we get around it, I didn't foresee this...but you come to me, you have enough faith in me, the FBI, Mozzie, that we figure something out that doesn't require you making renegade decisions that involves shattering people's lives!

Peter stood abruptly and marched back inside.

Neal was on his heels. "This wasn't about a lack of trust or faith; there were no other options Peter, short of you and El and the baby and Moz and June and Jones and Diana going into Witsec!"

"Not your call to make!" Peter was pacing, raking his hands through thinning graying hair. "We get threats all the time from criminals we put away - hell, that Sergei's last words to me as we slapped cuffs on him were 'remember this face.' Peter slapped his chest, "I'm still here."

Neal shook his head. "This was different! The Panthers had a longer reach than any other criminal group in the world; they wouldn't have found me so easily but they'd have no problem getting to you, and I'd rather die than risk that..." Neal shrugged his shoulders. "So I died."

He slumped on to the couch. "I've lost everyone I've ever loved Peter. You know that. I'm sorry it had to go down this way and the regrets alone and what it's cost me have nearly killed me for real, but everyone I care about is safe, so in the bigger scheme of things I have to look at this as a win.

Peter slumped down beside him.

Neal spoke softly. "It's not like I didn't leave you a paper trail. You had the key."

Peter nodded. "Yeah, could've saved myself a lot of grief had I put two and two together." He scrubbed a hand over his face. "But you were dead and I wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders. Nothing mattered."

"I'm sorry Peter, he whispered, slipping his hand on top of his. "If it makes you feel any better it wasn't all champagne and fois gras for me here. Paris has always been my happy place, but the City of Lights didn't shine so bright for me this time around. I couldn't escape the loneliness no matter what I did. There were a few women but it was all just play, nothing serious. I roamed the country for a while before finding this place; it has good light for painting which helped. But as time went on I..." he paused, unsure how to continue...

Peter gripped his hand a little tighter. Neal loved this man.

"I just kept sinking into this despair." His eyes welled up. " I was tempted more than once to reach out and call you, send word that I was alive and well. Sometimes I'd dial your work number just to hear your voice on your voicemail or write lengthy emails to you explaining everything, then delete them. I kept picturing El all pregnant and waddling, and imagine you with a newborn, what that looked like…" He struggled to keep his voice steady. "I really _really_ wanted to be there for that."

Neal wiped his face with his sleeve in a very un-Neal like manner; Peter moved his hand to the back of Neal's neck.

"Anyways, I got desperate or bold or both once the trial was over and they were all behind bars. I reached out to Mozzie, who left you the bottle..."

"...and here I am."

Neal smiled through his tears. "And here you are."

"I knew on some level you were all better off without me...I had brought you nothing but trouble."

Peter bristled. "That's not true and you - "

"I knew you'd be sad for a bit and feel responsible but you had the baby…" Neal continued, ignoring the interruption. "You could close the book on Neal Caffrey and resume your regularly scheduled life. I just couldn't close that book as easily."

Peter couldn't let that go. "You really were messed up if that's what you thought. Let me enlighten you a bit." Peter's eyes bore into Neal's. "I've experienced death and loss Neal, I'm no kid. But this?" Peter shook his head. "I've never known such pain." He chose his words carefully. "…and that it happened on my watch, that I didn't protect you…I couldn't make any sense of it. How it all went sideways so fast. I was wracked with guilt, wondering where I went wrong. It consumed me. So I started drinking pretty heavily, helped numb the pain. I couldn't find my footing at work so I took a temporary leave. El forced me to see a grief counsellor and she was good if not particularly helpful, but she put me on anti-depressants which at least allowed me to function, be there for El. I walked through her pregnancy in a fog. It should've been the happiest time of my life and I barely remember it. I'll never get that back. I was this close to going off the rails and if it wasn't for the baby…I don't know...I just don't know."

"Peter, please..." A right hook to the eye would be less painful.

"So don't presume to think your loss wasn't felt. You'll never know how much it was."

Neal leaned forward and hid his face in his hands; this was too much.

Peter rubbed his back. "All I know is that my best friend died, I watched you die Neal, and I had to look at your body on a slab in a morgue; I had to bury you, eulogize you, mourn you…' He gulped. "I was so broken." But now, now I'm sitting here with you beside me, alive and breathing, and for the first time in a year I feel like myself, like I'm whole again. C'm here."

"Neal offered no resistance as Peter drew him into his arms. He buried his face in his chest and let it all go. Peter held him tightly, tenderly, fingers trenched in his hair, head resting on top of his.

They sat there that way for who knows how long; his breathing eventually stopped hitching which was when Neal noticed something pretty endearing; "P'tr," he mumbled against him, "are you rocking me?"

Peter looked down at him mildly embarrassed. "Force of habit; calms the baby."

Neal snorted. "…and grown men apparently."

Neal's front door swung open revealing a beret-sporting Mozzie, who was brought up short by the sight of them on the couch, Peter's arms still wrapped around Neal. He had clearly walked in on something; tears had been shed, that much was obvious just by looking at them. He really wanted no part of it but it was too late to beat a hasty retreat.

"Suit. Bienvenue a Paris."

Peter was genuinely glad to see the bespectacled man. Amazing what shared grief can do to bond you to someone. "Bonjour Moz."

"Everything okay in here?"

Neal waved him over. "We're good. Peter didn't even hit me so right now I like him more than you."

"It's not completely off the table," Peter chimed in.

Neal glared at him.

"Well, the Suit's a better man than I am."

Peter gaped at him. "I'm sorry, the Suit's a what-now?"

"By 'better', I mean repressed".

"Of course you did."

Neal couldn't help but smile at the sheer normalcy of the moment; if he closed his eyes he'd swear he was back in his apartment at June's, Peter and Mozzie bickering with each other, just like old times. These were the moments he'd dream about. He was comfortably slumped against Peter and was loath to move away; he needed the contact. "Do me a favour Moz? I have a special bottle of red I've been saving. Can you get it for me? It's in the bottom drawer of the hutch. Grab some glasses and the corkscrew.

"Happy to; it is that time of day."

"Moz, any time of day for you is wine time."

"Damn straight. Especially here. Vive La France. Let's move this party outside; sun is setting." He sniffed the air, "Boeuf Bourguignon?"

"It'll be ready in an hour," Neal confirmed.

Moz scampered off. Neal leaned into Peter. "Are we okay?"

Peter nodded and squeezed his shoulder. "I have a lot to process still…but you're in one piece and that's all that matters. Don't blame me for being a little clingy though."

"I'm the one practically sprawled in your lap, I think that qualifies as clingy."

"Sweet Glory Neal!", Mozzie yelped from the kitchen. "This is a 1961 Petrus!"

"Thought that would get a rise out of him," Neal said to Peter.

They stood and made their way back to the balcony where Mozzie was ogling the bottle. "Nicely done mon frere."

"It was worth every penny, to be opened only upon being reunited with my family." Neal's voice wavered at this; clearly he had no control over his emotions. "Moz, would you do the honours?"

"You bet your sweet bippy I will." He uncorked it very carefully and poured the dark ruby liquid into expensive looking goblets.

Peter took his glass and looked out onto the panoramic vista before him; he was immediately hit with deja vu. He was on Neal's balcony at sunset in New York a year ago with June, post funeral service, raising their tumblers of Shackleton to Neal, Peter unable to choke out a toast. June had rescued him with a simple tribute of her own. Tears filled his eyes at the memory; what a horrible day.

Neal brought him out of his reverie, mildly alarmed. "Peter, you okay?"

Peter looked at him hard. Neal was real; he was alive, and he would never truly get how this con of his took years off his life. "I'm good. Just a lot of emotions right on the surface, you know?"

Neal gave him a knowing smile. "Oh I know."

"We need a toast for this wine," Mozzie said, impatient to taste this sweet elixir of the gods.

Neal shook his head. "I can't, I'll cry."

Moz huffed in exasperation, "No more tears for you! He looked to Peter.

Peter cleared his throat. "Let's keep it simple." He had a twinkle in his eye. "To life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness."

"Hmmm," Mozzie mulled it over..."corny, but oddly a propos where Neal is concerned, I'll accept it. To the American Dream!"

"The American Dream," Neal and Peter echoed; they raised their glasses and drank.

"You know a wine this good is worthy of multiple toasts…", Peter mused. "Moz, you take a turn before the next sip, then Neal…we go around in a circle until we kill the bottle. God know we have a lot to drink to."

"This your version of a drinking game Suit?"

"Something like that," he said smiling.

They made toasts and drank their way through the bottle. Things got a little silly by the time they polished it off, raising their glasses to Bridget Bardot, France, and Satchmo but that was okay. Some silliness was long overdue.


	4. Chapter 4

They sat down to dinner a short time later; Mozzie had opened another bottle of red, Neal put on some music and Peter couldn't remember enjoying a meal more in recent memory.

"So how long you here for Suit?" Mozzie asked between bites.

Neal was curious to know that himself.

"I'll leave the day after tomorrow. I arrived not knowing how long I'd need to find this guy," pointing his fork at Neal, "if I'd find him at all, but he made it easy on me."

Neal wasn't thrilled with this revelation. "Two days? You just got here!"

Peter drained his glass. "I know Neal but I found you, mission accomplished."

"So take a few days and let me show me you around..."

"I'd like nothing more, but I basically dropped everything when I discovered the locker; the Bureau doesn't know where I am; I'm not here in any official capacity and El's been on her own with the baby, not that she minded me coming obviously...if I didn't, she would have," he joked, trying to get a smile out of Neal.

He wasn't biting. "I haven't seen you in a year Peter," he grumbled.

"I was hoping you could show me around tomorrow, Paris in a day, figured you could pull that off," Peter appealed to his vanity, attempting to change the subject.

"Damn right I can," he huffed.

Peter grinned. "Excellent. With that, kids, I am fading fast. Can't remember the last time I slept." Peter stood and ruffled Neal's hair. "I'll be raring to go first thing. Just need a cup of that coffee to start the day."

"I'll be at your door at 6:30, Neal remarked."

"I like early starts. Night guys."

"Bonne nuit Suit."

Mozzie yawned and stretched in his chair; "I should head off myself; still have the lingering jet lag."

"You can crash here if you want."

"That's nice and all but there's a suite at the Ritz with my name on it." Mozzie made his way to the door. "I'll touch base tomorrow. Have a good day with the Suit."

"Moz," Neal grabbed his arm before he made his way out the door. "I'm not sure what my next step is…I haven't thought it all through, but, if I decided to go back to New York, would you hate me? I know you just got here, and you probably have big plans for us, which I'll be on board with eventually, but right now I…I…"

"Neal, stop talking. What do you think I am, your handler? You're free kid, to go wherever, do whatever, with no restrictions, no permission required from me or anyone else…I have your 5 million for you though, so don't disappear before I hand that off to you."

Neal smiled at his friend. "You better go before I hug you."

"Bye!" And with that, he was gone.

Neal shuffled down the hall to the guest room at precisely 6:29 a.m. the next morning, butler tray in hand adorned with coffee and croissants. The door was slightly ajar. He peeked in to find Peter already up, lying on top of the made bed, talking softly to El he assumed.

Peter waved him in and smiled at the sight of coffee. "…Flight 352. Right. Terminal 1. 4:30 p.m. Neal just brought me breakfast in bed!" he chirped into the phone. "Service with a smile, I like it." There was a beat of silence then laughter. "El says to stop showing her up, you're making her look bad." He said his good-byes to her as Neal set the tray down in front of Peter, who unexpectedly handed the phone to Neal; "she wants to talk to you." Neal stared at it like it was a foreign object. Peter pressed the phone into his hand. "Talk to her for a sec Neal, she wants to hear your voice."

Neal took the phone from him and gingerly raised it to his ear. He didn't know why he was so reticent to speak to her. "Elizabeth?" Silence. "El, you there?" Then the reason for his hesitation became clear. "El, don't cry, please don't cry…" He wandered out to the living room.

"Good luck with that conversation," Peter said under his breath as he poured himself a cup of joe. He scarfed down his breakfast and threw himself together. He found Neal leaning against the railing on the balcony minutes later. "Hey, I'm ready, let's do Paris!"

Neal looked at him, all puffy-eyed. "Kay. Here's your phone."

Peter took pity on him. "That bad?"

Neal shook his head; "I couldn't get her to stop crying…she insisted they were happy tears but still…then she asked me when I was coming home, to please come home…variations on that theme."

"Sorry bud; it's just that she loves you, you know? This has been tough on her too."

Neal took a deep breath. "Yeah. She mentioned that."

"You seem surprised."

Neal shrugged.

"My wife declares her love for a younger, hotter guy, maybe I should be threatened…",Peter teased.

"Ewww, Peter, that's gross. Get your mind out of the gutter."

Peter laughed. "Are you going to show me Paris or not? Tick tock my friend."

And just like that, Neal was in high spirits, excited to show off the city to Peter.

"You got your walkin shoes on because there's gonna be a lot of walking. We'll start with the Tuileries gardens, then the Louvre...", and they were off. Neal worked in his favourite patisserie, two other smaller galleries, Les Deux Magots for lunch, a cruise down the Seine, as touristy and cliche as that was but in the interest of time it was a good option, drinks at his favourite bar on the Left Bank, a pit stop at a few stores where Peter picked up something for El and and Neal something for his namesake for Peter to take back. They ended up at Neal's favourite local bistro for a late dinner; an unpretentious place he knew Peter would appreciate.

He let Neal order for him and leaned back in the banquette, relaxed and happy. "Yesterday is hard to beat but today was pretty spectacular. Thanks Neal, made some memories."

Neal smiled, wide and genuine. He did so enjoy pleasing Peter. "It helped that it was a beautiful day. City was showing off for you."

The waiter brought the Dom Perignon Neal had ordered, against Peter's judgment. "We're celebrating, remember? Let me do this...," Neal entreated.

"I'm out of toasts after last night," Peter said.

"I'm not." Neal cleared his throat and raised his glass. "To the best man I'll ever know and the best friend I'll ever have. I don't know why you ever gave a damn about me but I thank God every day that you did."

They clinked glasses; Peter smiled his proud smile and bit his lip. "Don't make me cry in a crowded restaurant Caffrey."

"Riiight, about my name, it's Neil Smith now. Went with the most generic surname out there. I was going to go with Nick but I couldn't part with Neal, so I just went with the traditional spelling.

"Ah. Well then, I do have another toast to make in that case. To Neil Smith, but you'll always be Neal George Caffrey to me."

It was Neal's turn to bite his lip. "Peter, haven't I cried enough in 24 hours..."

"Eh, we're entitled, after the year we've endured."

They enjoyed rustic French food and wine and each other and walked back to Neal's place hours later, where Neal made cappuccinos. He was a little surprised by this point that Peter hadn't grilled him about his future plans; it was very un-Peter like. They sat on Neal's balcony, Peter taking in the view by night one last time, the Eiffel Tower lit up in all its glory.

"I wanna come home Peter," Neal said at last.

Peter looked at him sharply. "I promised myself on my way over here, if and when I found you, that I wouldn't wax poetic on why you needed to come back to New York, as much as I love a good lecture. I came here first and foremost to see you in the flesh, make sure you were okay and support you in whatever you decided to do. You've earned your freedom Neal and I'm in no position to bark out orders, demanding things of you. But you have to know, as a friend, how much I want you back in New York. Paris is nice but home is where the heart is and you have a world of people desperate to see you. Keep the apartment here if you want, it's a nice place. I know money isn't an issue, but you should come home. "

Neal grinned. "Not gonna do the hard sell thing huh?"

"Well you went there."

"I just need a few weeks to tie up some loose ends here."

Peter held up his cappuccino cup - "to coming home."

"Best toast ever," Neal said as they tapped their cups.

They talked the night away on the balcony, about things both important and trivial. Peter used all his self-restraint to not map out Neal's waking days going forward, which in his world consisted of consulting at the bureau on a freelance basis, heading up a Security company, teaching part-time art classes at one of the city's colleges, and to complete the picture, fall in love with a nice girl, preferably El's best friend who was a looker, and settling down and living happily ever after. Nothing wrong with that life. A little too pedestrian for Neal though he surmised. Anyways, not his call to make. Perhaps a conversation they could have once back on U.S soil.

'Monsieur Burke," Neal nudged his shoulder. "You've got that far-away look in your eyes again."

"Just thinking about the difference a year makes. Standing here with you, in Paris, feels surreal."

"Thank you for coming for me, I totally would've gotten it if you didn't, but I'm so glad you did. Sometimes I had these thoughts that you found the locker and you didn't much care, you were completely ambivalent about it...I tried so hard not to be hurt by that..."

Peter hooked an arm around his shoulder and rubbed his arm. ''You know me better than that…"

"I do. It's just, I have you on a pretty high pedestal which isn't fair of me I know, but everyone needs a hero, and you're mine Peter Burke."

Vulnerable Neal was a rare sight to see. "Neal," Peter squared him around and held him by the shoulders. "Holding me to such lofty standards is bound to lead to disaster at some point if it hasn't already, but let me be clear, there will never be a time or an instance when I don't come for you, whenever you need me, wherever you need me...I'm reminded of a song, what's the song...Carol King I think."

Neal wiped a stray tear and laughed; I don't have you on such a high pedestal that I can say without any hesitation that among your many strengths, singing isn't one of them."

Peter ignored him, trying to remember the words..."you just call, out my name, and you know wherever I am, I'll come running…" 'Dance with me'! Peter pulled him into his arms, back into that rocking motion that was second nature to him. "...to see you again. Winter, Spring, Summer or Fall, all you have to do is call, and I'll be there, be there...you've got a friend."

He twirled Neal and they laughed and laughed. The Peter pedestal grew infinitely higher.

Neal arranged car service for Peter for noon the next day; he wanted to accompany him to the airport but Peter insisted it wasn't necessary, joking it would give Neal more time to start packing himself. Before they knew it, the appointed time arrived and they were saying good-bye.

"But it's not really good-bye, more like see you in a week, maybe two," Peter endeavouring to keep the mood light.

Neal was doing his best with the stiff upper lip. "Text me when you land," then he was in Peter's arms.

"Be good," Peter said gruffly, and in case it needed to be said out loud, if there was still a sliver of doubt, even after everything they'd been through, "I love you."

Neal looked at him, eyes shining bright. "Love you," then he laughed. "That didn't even feel weird".

Peter smiled back. "See you in the motherland. El's already starting with the welcome home party plans."

That warmed the cockles of Neal's heart. "Party at June's, counting the minutes."

And with that, Peter was off. "A bientot mon ami."


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thanks for your time!_

"We need to leave now Peter if we're going to make the early show!" El yelled up the staircase. She turned to Neal, who was on the floor playing with the baby. An incongruous image it was; Neal Caffrey, ex-con man extraordinaire, trading in his trademark Devore suits for jeans, albeit expensive designer jeans, and a t-shirt, covered in baby drool and surrounded by toys. She had to smile at the sight. "Try and have him down by 8:30 or it'll mess up his schedule and you know who I'll be calling when he's awake and cranky at 4:00 a.m," she tapped Neal on the top of his head.

Neal looked up at her smiling guiltily as Peter came bounding down the stairs, within earshot. "Yeah, what she said, or no more babysitting privileges for you!" The last time Neal watched the baby for them he kept him up until 11:00 and he caught hell for it; he had played his trump card though, which he found worked extremely well. "But he was being all clingy and besides I have 6 months of bonding to catch up on..." he pleaded his case all but batting his eyelashes at them. Worked like a charm.

"His bottle's on the counter; he'll be ready for it by 8:00," El said, tugging on Peter's arm. "Let's go hon."

Peter bent down and kissed the top of his son's head who was oblivious to his parents imminent departure. "Be good."

"He's always good," Neal stated.

"I was talking to you." Peter said somewhat sternly.

"We won't be too late Neal," El intervened, taking Peter by the hand, dragging him to the door. "Thanks for doing this."

"You guys have fun. I know we will, won't we buddy?" He swooped him up and held him aloft in the air, making airplane noises.

They left to the sound of their baby's laughter.

Neal changed his namesake into a fresh diaper and the jammies El had laid out for him an hour later, proud of how nimble he had gotten with the process and settled down on the couch with him to read. He was working his way through the French version of The Little Prince. Baby Neal cooed and pointed at the pictures talking his baby gibberish which was beyond cute. "I may have to steal you," Neal whispered into his ear, kissing him on his temple. "We'd have so much fun." The baby looked up at him and gave him a gummy grin. He was just so adorable this kid, a perfect mix of Peter and El. Sometimes he really did have to fight the impulse to run away with him.

He had been back in New York for over a month now, arriving less than two weeks after Peter had left him in Paris. At first he thought he'd surprise the Burke's and show up at their door unannounced but then came to the conclusion that they probably had all had enough shock and awe to last a lifetime. A little pre-planning was in order. Peter had his flight info but Neal wasn't expecting him or any sort of welcoming committee to greet him when he arrived. He was wrong. He noticed El first; she was hard to miss, shrieking and barreling into him at quite a clip. She jumped into his arms sobbing and laughing at the same time. "Hey mama," he said into her hair. Peter came up behind her and wrapped his long arms around them both, El smushed between them. They clung to each other like that for a bit before finding their voices. Neal cleared his throat, "you guys didn't have to come..."

"Are you kidding?" Peter said smiling, taking Neal's suitcase in hand and wrapping him tightly around his shoulder as they made their way out of the terminal, Elizabeth on Neal's other side, arm around his waist. "We've been counting the minutes."

They had gone directly to June's, where the sweetest welcome home party ever was held in his honour. He met his namesake whom June was babysitting while Peter and Elizabeth fetched him at the airport. The baby made strange at first, chubby fists clinging firmly to his dad by the collar. 'You hang on to him kid,' Neal thought to himself, 'and never let go.' But Neal being Neal had charmed the infant within minutes, enticing him with funny faces and a stuffed bear he brought back in his carry-on. It was the perfect homecoming.

Neal reveled in the memory; before he knew it the clock struck 9:00 and he could hear Peter screaming in his ear, 'PUT MY SON TO BED!' He warmed his bottle and took him up to the nursery; he sat in the rocker and wrapped his fingers around his namesake's tiny ones as he clutched the bottle and sang to him softly. The child was half asleep by the time he polished it off and Neal gently lifted him over his shoulder and rocked him. He could have sat there like that forever, the baby dead weight against him, smelling of that terrific baby smell that could make him a millionaire a few times over if he could figure out how to bottle it. He acquiesced eventually and laid the sleeping infant in his crib, covering him with a cashmere baby blanket he brought back from France.

As usual, his timing was perfect, with Peter and Elizabeth unlocking the front door soon after Neal padded downstairs. "Hey kids, you two have a good time?"

"Really great time," El replied happily. "Our evenings out are few and far between these days. Thanks Uncle Neal. Was he okay for you?"

Neal was reduced to a puddle of goo whenever he was referred to by that moniker. He nodded, "We had fun."

"Glad to hear it," Peter enthused. "Just don't go stealing him anytime soon." Neal's jaw dropped. The man was a mind-reader.

El giggled. "I'm off to bed. See you for dinner Friday night, right? I'll expect a full debriefing on the interview; you're gonna do great."

Neal smiled at her. "Thanks El. From your lips to God's ears." She kissed his cheek and headed upstairs.

"Nightcap?" Peter asked as he poured himself a scotch. "You've earned it."

"Sure. Now that I'm off duty."

"You all set for Thursday?" Peter asked, handing him a glass. They sat at the dining room table.

"As ready as I'll ever be," Neal answered truthfully. El had put in a good word with a contact of hers from Art Pro, a local leading authority in the field of fine art authentication; they were in need of someone with Neal's particular skill set and Elizabeth was only too happy to sing his praises. Neal wasn't necessarily looking to jump into the 9-5 grind so quickly but he had to admit this sounded like something he would enjoy and he owed it to El to see it through. She went out on a limb for him.

'You'll be fine," Peter said encouragingly.

"I think your reference letter alone will do the trick," Neal said as he took a sip of his drink.

Neal was barely in New York two weeks when Peter sat him down at this very table and handed him reference letters from himself and Reece Hughes. 'Thought these could come in handy eventually. Good to have all your ducks in a row.' Peter was in full-on parental-mode that night; Neal felt like he was 17 years old, getting career advice from his old man. Hughes' letter was brief and to the point but important to have, in that it was him who signed off on his original deal with Peter to begin with. He wouldn't be sitting here if not for the elder statesman's consent. They had raised their glasses to Hughes that night. He opened Peter's letter once he was back in the privacy of his loft at June's. He was nervous, unsure what to expect; Peter could very easily have penned a non-reference letter, with reason upon reason why any honest outfit should definitely **NOT** have him in their employ. Because so much of Peter and Neal's relationship, how they felt about each other, professionally, personally, went unspoken, it came as a shock to read words written by Peter's own hand, speaking not only of the quality of Neal's work and the success rate they had as a team in the White Collar division of the FBI, but devoting the majority of the letter to speaking to his character, to the kind of man he was, the integrity and great care he had for people; the unquantifiable traits he brought to the job and that he would bring to any future career opportunity. It was the most beautiful thing Neal had ever read. It was like a weird love letter. It moved him so much he went out and had the original framed the next day.

"You call me the second you're out of there."

"Yessir."

They say you can't go home again but somehow Neal found a way to do just that.

He called Peter as promised at 4:15 that Thursday. He got the job.


End file.
